


How to Come Home

by smaragdbird



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Banter, Best Friends, Blow Jobs, Caring, Community: smallfandombang, Denial of Feelings, Discussion of literature, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Or to America, Or to Russia, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pre-Slash, Recovery, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Teasing, author has never been to Russian America, the tags really depend on the individual ship, too many characters named Thomas, walks along the beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 22:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18455651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/pseuds/smaragdbird
Summary: After three long winters in the eyes, the battered Erebus and Terror make it through the Nortwest Passage and into safe harbour.Now that they survived seemingly against all odds, the men start to make plans for the future and deal with the events of the past years and the relationships that they forged amongst each other.





	How to Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out Amoredition's [ super awesome art](https://amoredition.livejournal.com/8445.html) of my story. 
> 
> It is amazing and she deserves all the credits, comments and kudos you can give her <3

The port of Oshotk was primarily used by whaling ships and was so small that it barely deserved to be called a settlement. Its existence relied solely on trading with the whalers, mostly Russian though the odd British ships had come by in the past decades. The local population had spent long years without a port and if the Europeans left one day, they would barely notice that it had gone. The soil wasn’t good for growing crops and although nominally Russian if someone asked the inhabitants what nation they belonged to most would’ve simply shrugged.

Whaling ships were a common and welcome sight since their sailors bought plenty of food and other supplies for their journeys south and north. Military ships usually mean there was trouble brewing somewhere south. But the sight of two battered British mortar vessels coming in from the north east of all places was so unusual that within minutes of their sighting the entire port knew about them.

No one could remember seeing British ships come in from the west, so where had they come from? Through the ice? That seemed impossible. No ship could make it through the ice, not all the way from the other side. And what had happened to them? They looked rough, damaged as if they had been to battle. Was war coming? A war between Britain and Russia? And if so, why here, at the end of the world? Surely there were more than enough other battlefields closer to home.

All these rumours and more swirled around town by the time the ships limped into harbour. As mayor Nikolay Panamaroff had asked some of the most capable hunters in the area to accompany him. The stories that made it this far never spoke well of the British. Some even said they had conquered most of the world already and were always looking for more.

Nikolai put his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Who you are? What you want?” His English was bad, he spoke only a few phrases and understood little more than that, but it would have to be enough.

“We are British discovery ships!” A man yelled back in Russian. “We have wounded and need supplies. Fresh food. Rest.”

“This is Russian Territory”, Nikolai switched to Russian, which had been his father’s tongue and the language of most whaling ships passing by. “Come unarmed.”

“Aye!” The man replied, not in Russian, but Nikolai understood. 

He stood by and watched as the smaller ship launched her boat, sloppily and in haste, as if there were not enough men on board or perhaps, they were too sick. If the ships had overwintered in the ice, scurvy would have decimated them and without fresh food the rest would soon follow. Each winter there were whalers who stayed out too long and came back in the spring with half their crew missing and the other half barely alive.

The boat arrived with only four men rowing it and their gaunt faces and tattered clothes spoke of more than just scurvy. Nikolai had never seen whalers in such deplorable conditions after a winter in the ice. Had it been two winters for these men? That seemed unfeasible as it spoke of intent. But who in their right mind would voluntarily spent two winters in the ice?

“I am Captain Crozier of Terror”, one of the men introduced himself. He had a stocky built, thinning blonde hair and the accent of a man who had learned Russian once but used it very little since then.

“I am Nikolai Semyonovich Panamaroff”, Nikolai replied and offered his hand. “I am the mayor of Oshotk.”

“We have come here from – “Crozier clearly struggled for words and looked at the man beside him, who Nikolai notice, had only one leg.

“We’ve come here through the Northwest passage”, the other man said, much more fluently than Crozier’s halting tongue. “We’ve nearly run out of food, most men are sick, and we would be much obliged if we could take a rest in your town. My name’s Thomas Blanky, Ice Master of Terror.

“You came through the ice?” Nikolai asked, just the make sure he had understood Blanky right.

“Aye.” Despite the signs of sickness and hunger marring his face, Blanky grinned triumphantly. 

That was a story Nikolai needed to hear. “How many men do you have?”

“85 including us”, Blanky gestured between him and Crozier. “We have goods to trade, too.”

Crozier nudged Blanky and said something in English Nikolai couldn’t understand.

“Do you have boats who could bring our men to the shore?” Blanky asked, presumably translating what Crozier had said to him.

“I’ll send for more men”, Nikolai promised. “But our town is small and we may not have enough room for all of you.”

“We have enough tents for all of us if your men can bring them to the shore, too”, Blanky replied to Nikolai’s relief. “What we need most urgently is fresh food against the scurvy.”

“Of course”, Nikolai said. “I will send for that, too.”

It took the better part of the day to get all of the British men and their equipment to shore. Many were so sick that they could not stand and had to be carried. Fortunately, curiosity had won over most of Oshotk’s residents and they helped where they could if only to get to know more about the ships that had come from the ice.

Nikolai offered to house the officers in the town hall or with the local residents but to his surprise Crozier refused. They had all shared the same hardships on the journey here, he explained, and no man deserved better conditions than the next just on account on his rank. He did agree to join Nikolai for dinner together with Blanky after making sure that all of his men were looked after.

The two ships doctors worked tirelessly despite not looking much better than their compatriots, but at least they were still standing. Nikolai had also sent for Malquay, their local healer to help them. One of the doctors, a tall man with frizzy dark hair, had tried to talk to her in a language that sounded like a broken version of Inupiat but had given up when it was clear that they did not speak the same language.

Dinner was the most interesting evening Nikolai had had in decades. Blanky and Crozier told him about their mission – to find a way through the ice that blocked the sea from east to west – and how they had accomplished it. With no doubt this was a story that would be told for years on end, though few people outside of Oshotk would believe it. 

The Englishmen thanked him for his help and offered to take him over to the ships so he could see what they had to trade. They needed repairs and enough food to make it south to the Sandwich Islands, a place Nikolai hadn’t even heard of.

They also asked about the weather and how long the summers lasted in these parts. If they could still reach the Bering Strait. Nikolai told them that it had been an uncommonly warm summer so far and if it lasted, they could still sail in August and be clear of Russian America by September. But with regard to their sick and the state of their ships, perhaps they should overwinter here and sent someone ahead on one of the whaling ships that would be heading back south soon.

Crozier and Blanky nodded and thanked him again but Nikolai had a feeling that these men would set sail again sooner rather than later.

/

As the number of men capable of work had dwindled on the ships, everyone had been expected to do whatever needed to be done. Now the few who were left standing had been pulled into caring for those who couldn’t. Goodsir, Bridgens and the local native doctor, a woman, could only do so much.

Billy was one of the worst cases, already feverish and slipping in and out of consciousness by the time they had pulled into the harbour.

Irving hadn’t said a word when he had volunteered to look after Billy, maybe Irving thought he was doing it as penance or some equal nonsense.

Truth was he didn’t know why he had taken on this duty, except for the fact that it would’ve been unavoidable for him to care for someone sick, so it might as well be someone he liked. He had no idea though how to care for someone, had never done it before, and certainly no one had ever cared for him when he had been sick. In the mines and mills everyone had learned to work throughout their illness. If you couldn’t work, you were of no use, and would quickly find yourself turned out on the street.

The local doctor had given him a bowl of some green mush and gestured for him to feed it to Billy before leaving again. He had no idea what he was doing and not for the first time he thought it might be easier just to let Billy die. Yet, some part of him felt reluctant to go through with that. 

Unbidden Billy’s face came to mind when he had climbed the rigging two months ago, so happy to be working as a sailor again that it had even made him forget the pain that barely let him sleep. He had been envious of the ease with which Billy had moved across the rope like a monkey and he had been outright jealous at the way Billy had smiled, standing on the foremast, because now he knew how Billy looked when he was happy and he had certainly never smiled at him like that.

He scooped up as much of the green mush as he could with the spoon and pushed it between Billy’s teeth. Goodsir had shown him earlier how to force Billy to swallow despite his unconscious state. 

Suddenly he was seized with the urge to run as hard and as fast as possible from this place. For a moment it felt as if it would be his fault if Billy died. The moment of panic passed though and he resumed his task. 

Still, he resented that there was something about Billy that made him care whether he lived or died. He wasn’t that person, he didn’t care about people and there was nothing about Billy that made him in anyway special or exceptional. And yet, if he could pick one man to survive this whole ordeal with him, it would be Billy.

After he was finished, he left the tent and decided to take a walk around the village to find some distraction. Alcohol, whores, men gambling, anything to take his mind off Billy’s fragile health. Plenty of others had died, just because they had made it to shore and something resembling civilisation, didn’t mean that they would survive.

He found nothing to distract himself with. Oshotk was little more than a collection of wood cabins grouped around the harbour mostly inhabited by native people and a few Europeans. No one spoke English and pretty much everyone from the Expedition was busy caring for one of their shipmates.

A persistent feeling of worry plagued him the whole time and only eased when he returned and found Billy still asleep but no worse than before. He soaked the rag on Billy’s forehead in fresh water if only to give him something to do. Billy’s face was still hot to the touch, yet when Goodsir came by later with another bowl of green mush he said that Billy’s fever was down.

He still thought that perhaps it would be better if Billy died, better for him in any case. Giving a shit about someone else was a severe disadvantage, he had learned that early on. If Billy lived, he could ruin everything like he had almost done a year ago when they had been discovered by Irving.

Despite his reasoning he fed Billy the second bowl of mush as well.

/

Goodsir made a final round through the tents to make sure everyone was looked after. Crozier had invited him to dinner with the town’s mayor but he had declined. The sick needed him more and he couldn’t leave everything to Mr. Bridgens. 

At the start he had tried to communicate with the local doctor, her name was Malquay, but she had only stared at him without comprehension like Silence had at the start of their acquaintance. 

Getting Malquay to understand their situation had been quite an effort at the start. When it had become clear that she couldn’t understand him, Goodsir had asked Blanky to translate his request into Russian which had then been translated into Malquay’s language by one of the town’s people.

Once she had understood their situation though, Malquay had quickly gone to work, directing other people to collect a certain plant for her, which she had shown Goodsir and Bridgens how to grind to a green mush that had to be fed to the sick.

Goodsir had never heard of such a cure before but he also knew that it was said that Esquimaux did not get scurvy so maybe this plant was some kind of miracle cure. Two men had died during the transfer from the ships to the shore, but none had since then and he was praying that the number would remain the same over night.

From what he understood from Malquay’s instructions after they had been translated twice, the sick needed to eat as much of the plant as possible, so he had spent the last few hours since handing out the first rations grinding more of it. 

Mr. Bridgens had offered to help him with handing out the second rations during his round but Goodsir had firmly declined. He knew that Mr. Bridgens had on top of his work as his assistant, also taken over the care of Mr. Peglar and giving out rations was nothing that required two men to handle. 

As he started his round, filling empty bowls with more green paste from the plant that would hopefully save them, Goodsir felt his trust in his fellow men validated. Three years on these ships and yet it felt as if they had only truly started to care about one another in the past few months.

The leads suddenly opening up to the west had renewed their hope that they could make it home alive and Goodsir felt that true brotherhood, regardless of rank, had bloomed between the men. He didn’t know if Crozier promoting Jopson to the rank of Lieutenant had been the first or the final step of this development but as he was making his rounds, he saw that the bonds established in the last weeks were holding fast even on shore.

Some were expected, of course LeVesconte would care for Fitzjames, but others were more unexpected. Hickey looked surprisingly worried when Goodsir came by his tent to look after Mr. Gibson, whose fever was definitely lessened since the last time Goodsir had seen him. And the careful gentleness with which Crozier cared for Jopson when their position would have usually been reversed, was heart-warming to see.

Despite all of this, the hard work, the worry about his patients, Goodsir couldn’t help but to think of Silence. She had returned to her people, to her duties as shaman and to the Tuunbaq, but even though he understood why, Goodsir still wished she could have come with them. He wished he could show her England, maybe introduce her to his family, his brothers and sisters would be delighted to meet her, he knew it. 

Goodsir wanted to do anything to make up for the horrible treatment she had endured at the expedition’s hands, the death of her father and his undignified funeral. Perhaps, if he made it back to Britain, he could return to the Arctic on another ship and find her again. There was so much he still wished to learn, most of all her name.

/

He had learned early on to distinguish even asleep between things that could be ignored; pickaxes hammering against rock coal, the constant noise the cotton mills made; and those that could not like someone calling his name or touching him.

“Cornelius.”

When he woke, Billy was looking at him, clear eyed and awake for the first time in a week. Whatever the green mush had been, it must have been some kind of miracle cure.

“Hey, Billy”, he smiled, because it was the easiest way to hide the swirling vortex of emotions inside him. Relief, fear, anger, happiness, they all collided into something unnameable.

“We’ve made it?” Billy’s voice was weak and slightly hoarse, but he couldn’t remember hearing a more welcome sound and that annoyed him. Billy’s wellbeing shouldn’t have such sway over his mood.

“Yes, we’re somewhere in Russian America, I think. Whatever people are speaking here, it’s not English. And it’s still bloody cold.”

After a quick glance to the tent’s entrance, firmly closed against the cold and the wind, Billy took his hand. “Thank you. I remember you being here.”

He shrugged, his smile firmly in place as he clamped down on the feeling of self-consciousness that was rising in his chest just like it had when he had given Billy the ring. 

“Couldn’t let you die, could I?” Which was closer to the truth than he liked. 

“Still”, Billy squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

It felt good to talk to Billy again, good to see him to better and for a long moment they did nothing but look into each other’s eyes. Maybe Billy wasn’t smiling quite as much as he had been when climbing the ship’s rigging, but it was a close second and his eyes were as bright and blue as he imagined the sky over Oahu would be.

When he realised what he was doing he broke the eye contact. “I should tell Goodsir you’re awake.”

He wanted to get up but Billy’s grasp on his hand held him in place as surely as chains would have and that frightened him. He had sworn himself he would never let someone else have such a hold over him. It was dangerous. He had seen where it could lead and it was never anything good.

And then Billy did something he had not expected: he tugged on his wrist and when he turned towards him, Billy closed the distance between them and kissed him. It was nothing more than a peck on his lips but it had been a year since their last one and suddenly he didn’t care about anything except that he needed more. His free hand wound into Billy’s hair and he deepened the kiss, tasting the green mush and blood, yet it was more intoxicating than any alcohol he had ever drunk. 

They separated only a few moments later, both of them breathless, and he leaned his forehead against Billy’s. He felt as if someone had poured hot water on his chest, the warmth expanding outwards through his body into his limbs. A part of him was screaming to get out, to run because he had never felt like this before and it frightened him, but he had never been one to give in to fear.

Billy took his hand and rested it on his chest and he could feel the fucking ring underneath Billy’s shirt. He would’ve thought that Billy would store it with the rest of his belongings, not that he would wear it around his neck like a token or a promise.

He kissed Billy again, softer, gentler than last time, before he finally tore himself away to fetch Goodsir. If Billy survived, and it looked like he would, he would have to keep him close, because Billy, Billy was the most dangerous thing for him right now.

/

“I could swear I heard Doctor Goodsir say you should remain in bed for another few days”, Crozier said when he found Jopson very much out of bed and struggling to get into his uniform. Like Fitzjames, he had been on death’s door when they had reached Oshotk although Blanky had joked that Jopson wouldn’t dare do die without Crozier’s explicit permission. It hadn’t been one of his better jokes.

“I’m fine, sir”, Jopson replied despite the boot he was trying to get on repeatedly slipping through his weak fingers. “There’s much to do if we want to leave here before winter.”

Crozier didn’t even question how Jopson knew about the possibility of them wintering here. It was easier to count the men who did not confide in him, other officers included. Instead he picked up the boot when it fell from Jopson’s hands again and used his other hand to gently but insistently push him down on the cot.

“Yes, and for that I need all of my officers in good shape. That includes you”, he said with emphasis. The Admiralty would accept Jopson’s promotion, Crozier would make sure of that and if it was the last thing he did. 

“I am fine, sir”, Jopson insisted. 

They had been here before, back in Antarctica when Crozier had pulled Jopson away from a loose cannon that would’ve crushed him and instead had only left a long, deep gash in his right leg. Jopson and their surgeon at the time had had a severe difference of opinions about the term ‘healed’.

“And I will allow Doctor Goodsir to tie you down if you get up again without his permission”, Crozier repeated the same threat he had given six years ago. “Besides, I do have a task for you.”

That was enough to make Jopson pause in what would have undoubtedly been another attempt to assure Crozier that he was fine and ready to work.

He gave Jopson a book, who opened it and read the title. “Navigational mathematics, sir?”

“You’ll need to learn that for your Lieutenant’s exam. To my knowledge Lieutenant Irving is a harsh teacher but the Admiralty will be hard on you, too.”

“You don’t have to that, sir. I’m happy to return to service as your steward.”

“And I believe in giving men the respect that they’re due. You earned this, Thomas. Don’t ever doubt that.” For a moment Crozier put his fingers under Jopson’s chin to force him to look him in the eyes. “Besides there will be no stewards for the rest of this journey. We don’t have enough men. Gibson and Armitage were sailors before this expedition, Mr. Bridgens will be Erebus’ new physician and Mr. Ayelmore her cook.”

A small laugh escaped Jopson’s lips, the first in months. “The Admiralty will love that.”

“We just discovered the Northwest Passage”, Crozier replied flippantly. “The Admiralty can go to hell for all I care.”

Jopson shook his head but he was still smiling, so Crozier took it as a win. 

“Now, do I have your word that you will not try to leave this bed without Doctor Goodsir’s explicit permission?” Crozier asked because he knew Jopson would never break his word to him and if he had to exploit his unwavering loyalty for Jopson’s own good, then he would do it.

“Sir – “Jopson, of course, knew exactly what he was trying to do.

“Do I have your word, Lieutenant?”

“Of course, sir”, Jopson said somewhat resignedly. “You have my word.”

/

“Last round for tonight?” Henry greeted him with a warm smile when John came into the tent. 

“Aye, thankfully I don’t believe we’ll lose more men”, John replied. The local doctor’s mixture of nettle stings had worked miracles, with even people like Captain Fitzjames who had been close to death making a full recovery. They had still lost three men but that was far lower than he or Doctor Goodsir had expected.

“I’ve never seen anything like it”, Henry agreed when John mentioned it to him. 

“How did the inspection go?” John asked. With two decades of sailing under his belt and his position as Captain of the Forecastle, Henry was one of the most experienced sailors so Captain Crozier had taken him with him to the ships to see what needed to be done before they could set sail for the Sandwich Islands.

“We’ll need rope and sails, though if necessary, we should be able to make it to Hawaii as we are. The ships aren’t so much the problem as the lack of men to sail them. I’ve made some suggestions for re-rating the men we have, like making you the physician on Terror.”

John shook his head. “I’m merely assisting Doctor Goodsir.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, John. You did a great job, Goodsir and the local doctor couldn’t have done this without you”, Henry insisted, sounding downright indignant that John wouldn’t accept the praise he was due.

“I’m just glad you made it.”

Henry took one of John’s hands into his and held on tight. “I’m glad you made it, too. After all I cannot open that bookshop without you. I don’t know what constitutes good literature”, he added the last bit with a smile.

“You still want to do that?” John asked. They had talked about it since their time on the Gannet and it was one of the reasons that they had applied for this expedition. Four years of double pay would make things easier.

“Of course I do”, Henry’s tone left no doubt about it. “Don’t you?”

“You love the sea, Henry”, John pointed out. He had always known this would most likely be his last journey but Henry was young enough that he could easily continue for another decade or so.

“I love you more”, Henry dropped his voice so it was barely even a whisper. “Besides, we could open our shop anywhere. One of the harbour towns like Portsmouth or Liverpool, or even Dundee.”

“You’d move to Scotland?”

Henry thought about it for a moment. “Maybe not Scotland”, he laughed and John laughed with him. He pressed a kiss to the back of John’s hand before he continued, more serious than before, “I don’t want us to end up on different ships again. The way the Admiralty works one of us could end up in China and the other one in the West Indies. So I’d rather quit now and spent the rest of my life with you in one place.”

They looked at each other for a moment, before John said quietly. “I love you, too.”

Henry grinned like he did every time, as if he couldn’t quite belief his luck, and replied, “Good. Because you do know that if we settle in a harbour town, we’ll have to sell penny dreadfuls.”

John’s wince was only partially for show. He and Henry had very different opinions about the cheap magazines filled with lurid horror stories and far away adventures. But they were very popular, especially among the lower classes.

“Maybe we should stay in London and specialise in something else”, he suggested with a smile on his face. He was glad that even after all these years, Henry was just as committed to their dream as he was.

“Or we sell in only penny-dreadfuls but move to Scotland. This way we’re both equally suffering”, Henry grinned. “But I thought we would specialise in travels, true and fictional.” With his free hand he grabbed his notebook from behind him. “I made some sketches for a sign when you were busy.”

“You have some ideas for a name, too?” John asked as he took the notebook and opened it. 

Henry shook his head. “You’re the better man to pick that one out.”

When John saw the design, a compass rose on the inside of the sea shell tattoo that he wore on his arm, it felt as if the future was already here.

/  
/

“Do you mind if I sit?” Little asked when he found Hartnell sitting alone on a rock outcropping the water. 

“Please”, Hartnell replied, gesturing to the space next to him. 

In the weeks as they had crawled through the Northwest Passage, scurvy running rampant and rations running low, a lot of the divides between officers and men had started to break down. Jopson’s promotion to Lieutenant had just been the start of it.

As one of the few seamen still standing by the end of it, Little had come to rely a lot on Hartnell and learned to appreciate him even more. He was a good-natured, compassionate and loyal man with a sense of humour and a love for the sea that Little understood only too well.

A fortnight ago or so they had started calling each other by their first names in private and Little hadn’t missed that Hartnell hadn’t addressed him with either Edward or sir. 

“Thank you”, Little said and sat down so close as to make sure Hartnell understood it was deliberate. To his delight, Hartnell did not move away. “How are you, Thomas?”

Hunger, pain and injury had plagued all of them by the end and the few men left standing had shouldered thrice the work as usual. It was nothing short of a miracle that they had made it through.

“Better, the pain is almost gone”, Hartnell gave him a quick smile. “I just can’t believe we’re here.”

“I know what you mean”, Little replied even though he suspected there was more that Hartnell hadn’t said yet. “I wake up and for a moment I think we’re back on the ice.”

“Me, too”, Hartnell admitted. He looked lost and Little wished he would speak to him so he knew how he could help him. Their friendship was new, yes, but that didn’t mean he valued it any less. The hardships they had shared made up for what they lacked in time.

“Soon we’ll set sail for the Sandwich Islands”, Little said with more optimism than he felt. “Have you seen them before?”

Hartnell shook his head. “My first ship spent a couple years in the East Indies. And my second ship was on Channel duty”, he said the last words with same resignation that every sailor held. Patrolling the channel was the most boring duty save for being stuck on land on half-pay like Little had been at the time.

“I haven’t been there either”, Little replied. “But I think Mr. Bridgens has and a few of the others as well. Apparently, it’s a popular port for the whaling ships hunting in the Pacific.”

The conversation ceased again and Little couldn’t think of anything else to say without it sounding inane. Perhaps he should leave but then it also didn’t feel like Hartnell wanted to be alone right now.

“I’m sorry”, Hartnell said after they had sat in silence for a while. “I’m not good company.”

“I don’t mind”, Little replied. “I only wish you would tell me what troubles you and if I can help.”

“I was thinking about my brother”, Hartnell said and the vulnerability in his voice made Little put a hand on his shoulder. He knew they had been close. “I wish he could’ve seen this.”

“I’m sorry”, Little said. He had said it at the time of John Hartnell’s funeral too, but now he knew better how deeply the loss had hurt Hartnell.

“He was a shoe-maker”, Hartnell continued, blinking rapidly as if to keep the tears at bay. “He only joined because of me, because I was sending all these letters home about how amazing the East Indies were, how much I loved the sea. If it hadn’t been for me – “His voice broke and he pressed a hand over his mouth.

“It was not your fault”, Little insisted, now holding both of Hartnell’s shoulders in his hands. “He could have died of consumption as surely back home in England as on Beechey. It was not your fault.” He emphasised the last sentence, shaking Hartnell a little with each word.

Hartnell nodded but he was still crying and it broke Little’s heart to see him so distressed. How long had he kept these feelings inside, the grief, the guilt, all bottled up? And yet he had been unfailingly kind and friendly, good-humoured and optimistic even when things had been at their worst and Little knew that all of the crew loved him for it.

He wrapped his arms around Hartnell’s shoulders and pulled him into an embrace, the only comfort he could offer aside from repeated whispers insisting that his brother’s death had not been Hartnell’s fault.

Hartnell cried against his chest, his whole body wrecked by sobs while Little held him close. He ached for his friend and wished that somehow, he could make things better for him, but a small part of him was also glad that Hartnell trusted him with this.

Eventually the tears subsided and Hartnell pulled away from him, wiping his face with the sleeves of his jumper. Little felt the loss and a part of him yearned to pull Hartnell into his arms again.

“I’m sorry”, Hartnell glanced down as if ashamed by what had happened.

“You have nothing to be sorry for”, Little replied, his hand back on Hartnell’s shoulder. 

“I didn’t cry this much even when we buried him.”

“A lot has happened since then”, Little reminded him gently. In some ways it might have been a mercy John Hartnell died on Beechey. He didn’t want to speculate how badly it would’ve affected Thomas to see his brother burn to death during Carnivale or see him ripped apart by the Tuunbaq.

“You’re right”, Hartnell seemed to recover as if his brother’s death had been a wound that had needed to be drained before it could heal properly. “Thank you, Edward.”

“Always”, Little replied, his hand slipping from Hartnell’s shoulder, coming to rest just next to his hand on the rock. “I’ve never been to the East Indies. Would you tell me about them?”

Hartnell nodded and launched into a description about white beaches, strange food and mischievous monkeys. But what made Little’s heart lighter was seeing the light back in his friend’s eyes, shining bright like the sky over southern islands, and the warmth of their hands resting next to each other.

/

“How do you feel?” Tozer asked when he entered the tent, carrying a bowl of soup and some of the green paste the local medicine woman had given them all against scurvy. Most men were back on their feet, even severe cases like Gibson and Fitzjames. Though with Armitage it was less his feet that were the problem…

“What do you think?” Armitage glared at him. They had encountered a bout of bad weather a few days before reaching Oshotk and Armitage, who had been on the rigging during a particularly harsh gale, had lost his grip. Breaking his arm was bad enough but also spraining his wrist on the other arm was just plain bad luck. 

“I don’t think anything”, Tozer replied, managing to keep a straight face.

“You’re enjoying this”; Armitage narrowed his eyes at him.

“I don’t enjoy seeing you in pain, Tommy”, Tozer replied and held a spoonful of soup to Armitage’s lips. He had cared for Heather when he had been comatose, so he felt comfortable doing the same for Armitage. “I do see the irony of the situation though.”

Tozer had been with Armitage on the rigging, since at this point so few men had been left standing on the ship that everyone had been needed to do whatever work necessary. And while Tozer had fallen, too, he had walked away from it with nothing more than a few new bruises.

“I knew it.”

Tozer sighed and leaned into kiss Armitage, who let him but as soon as they separated again, he said, “Don’t think you can distract me with that.”

“No?” Tozer raised his eyebrows and grinned. Armitage’s words sounded like a challenge.

“No”, Armitage replied before accepting another spoon of soup.

Tozer followed it up with another kiss, running his tongue teasingly over Armitage’s bottom lip before withdrawing.

Armitage glared at him defiantly but he also made no move to stop him, so Tozer continued, growing a little bolder each time. By the time the bowl was empty, Armitage’s lips were and swollen, his face flushed and the faint impressions of teeth were still visible on the skin of his neck. 

“Still not distracted?” Tozer asked, setting the dishes aside so he could bury both hands in Armitage’s hair. In the last few weeks at sea they had been too busy to find more than moment’s worth of privacy and he yearned to be close to Armitage like he had yearned for food and warmth in these past weeks.

“You’re a menace”, Armitage whispered, his mouth parted and breath becoming quicker.

“I’m a soldier”, Tozer replied, lips ghosting over Armitage’s cheek. “I am meant to be menacing.”

He kissed Armitage, long and deep, without trying to hide the depth of his feelings or desire. After three years that would be an exercise in futility.

“Sol.” If he had ever any doubts, the way Armitage said his name would have erased them all. Tozer threw him a quick grin and dropped his hands down to Armitage’s lap, opening the buttons of his trousers.

“Are you insane?” Armitage whispered furiously. “We’re in the middle of the town and it’s daylight.”

“Exactly, everyone is busy”, Tozer smirked. “And I know you can keep quiet, Tommy.”

A necessary skill for people like them on a crowded ship, but there was always a chance of discovery and if Tozer was being honest that only added to the thrill.

“Fine, but if we get caught I’m blaming it all on you.”

“That’s fine. We won’t.” Tozer pulled Armitage’s half hard cock from his trousers and licked a long, broad strip along the underside of it before closing his mouth over the tip. He felt Armitage buck up and laid his other arm across his hips to keep him down.

He had missed this, the heavy fullness of Armitage’s cock on his tongue, the bitter, slightly salty taste of the first few drops of his seed, the stifled moans from above him. Taking Armitage deeper he felt the tip press against his throat and swallowed around him. He kept a slow rhythm deliberately, wanting to draw this out. It had been months since the last time and he wanted to savour it. Slowly he pushed further down until he had all of Armitage in his mouth, until he could press his nose against the nest of hair at the base of his cock and inhale the musky smell there, before pulling away again.

Armitage was aching to bury a hand in his hair, Tozer knew that from past experience, and that frustration had to be nearly as bad as Tozer’s, knowing that he wouldn’t feel Armitage’s hands around his cock anytime soon. And because they were in the middle of the camp, Armitage couldn’t even risk telling him to go faster or deeper. 

Tozer almost pulled off of him, swirling his tongue around the head as he grinned to himself. He could almost taste Armitage’s despair but instead of alleviating it, he decided give Armitage a few short licks over his cock and balls before nibbling on the soft skin of his thighs instead.

From the corners of his eyes he could see Armitage’s fingers twitch with the desire to grab him and force his mouth back onto his cock, but his injuries prevented that. 

“Sol”, Armitage’s voice, even as quiet as it was, sounded incredibly strained. 

Just because he could, Tozer pretended not have heard him, instead busying himself to suck a bruise into the inside of Armitage’s thigh where no one would see it except him.

“Sol, please.”

It would take a stronger man than him to ignore Armitage’s pleading though. He abandoned his task to put his lips around the head of Armitage’s cock, his tongue teasing the slid at the top, before he took him deeper again.

He missed the painfully tight grip Armitage usually had on his hair when he came in Tozer’s mouth but the noises he made, the high-pitched wail stifled in the crook is his elbow, was still the same and so was the taste when he swallowed his seed.

Tozer leaned up to kiss him, savouring the breathless urgency still within Armitage, before helping him to tuck himself back into his trousers.

“Do you want me to – “Armitage nodded towards Tozer’s crotch. They could make do but it wouldn’t be the way Tozer liked it.

“It’s fine. I’ll get my share when you’re healed.” He could jerk off later, maybe even give Armitage a little show.

“When I’m healed and we’re on the Sandwich Islands”, Armitage waited until Tozer looked him in the eyes to continue, his voice low and almost threatening, “I’m going to find us some abandoned hut in the middle of nowhere and I’m not going to let you leave for a week.”

“Just a week?” Tozer pretended to be disappointed despite the shiver of anticipation that was running down his spine. “I wasn’t going to let you leave for a month.”

“I’ll never let you leave.”

In some ways, Armitage would always be braver than him, Tozer thought. That was why he had kissed him first, too. “Careful, Tommy, that sounds like a promise.”

“What if it is?”

Tozer smiled and leaned in to kiss him again. “As if I would let you get away.”

/

“Still want to walk across Russia to beat us in bring the news home?” LeVesconte asked when they walked along the sand. 

“Maybe next time”, Fitzjames joked but it fell flat. The events were still too close to joke about them.

“I hoped we could go somewhere warm next time”, LeVesconte replied. “I think I’d rather guard that guano deposit again than return to the Arctic.”

“You say that now but when we’re back there, suddenly all you want is to be away from the stink and back on the ice.” There was a brittleness to Fitzjames’ smile even though it reached his eyes. He had been on death’s door when they had reached the port of Oshotk and sometimes it seemed as if he had taken something back with him from within it.

“Probably”, LeVesconte admitted. 

“Besides, you’ll get your own command when we return”, Fitzjames added as if he had already signed the papers himself. “The Admiralty could easily send me back to the Arctic and you to the Antarctic if they so pleased. Although according to the year-old rumours here something’s brewing in the Black Sea.”

“That could be over by the time we come back to Britain”, LeVesconte replied. 

“Fair enough.”

“It’s strange to think that after all these years there may be a time when we’re not on the same ship anymore”, LeVesconte said after a while.

They had left the harbour and all signs of civilisations long behind them so Fitzjames dared to take his hand for a moment. “The hazard of naval service. Letters sent from half around the world and eventually we’ll retire as Admirals, taking long walks on a beach like this.”

“Did anyone ever tell you, you’re too optimistic for your own good?”

“It’s not optimism, I can simply see the future.” For a moment Fitzjames kept a straight face but then he broke out in laughter, a sound LeVesconte hadn’t heard in too long.

“What about the future right now?” LeVesconte asked, reaching out to tug a strand of Fitzjames’ hair behind his ear.

Fitzjames smiled. “I think you’re going to kiss me.”

“Am I?” LeVesconte quirked an eyebrow.

“Absolutely.”

“Then I better make your prediction come true.” 

It was risky to do it out here, where, despite being far outside the town’s boundaries, someone could still stumble upon them, but it was a risk they were willing to take. Besides, the local people would most likely not care, and if they started to flog crewmember for sodomy then very few people would come out unbloodied. The higher the hardships, the more the men bonded with each other.

“I guess you can see the future”, LeVesconte said when the pulled apart.

“Told you”, Fitzjames smiled. “Besides, you looked far too serious for a moment.”

“As if every single of my grey hairs isn’t due to you anyway”, LeVesconte replied with exasperated fondness. Even if they received separate commands, he had no doubt that Fitzjames would find a way to pull him into whatever shenanigans awaited him next.

/

“You look so ill-humoured, one could think we’re still trapped in the ice”, DeVoeux observed as he unceremoniously sat down next to Hodgson. They had known each other long and closely enough that there was little formality between them when they were alone.

“Well, we’re still in the Arctic”, Hodgson replied. “And there is a chance we might have to overwinter here.”

“Don’t jinx us”, DeVoeux said, lightly hitting his arm. “I never want to see snow again in my life.”

“No, me neither”, Hodgson said. He looked away from the sea at DeVoeux and noticed that, as usual, he was carrying a book. The only other person he knew who was so passionate about reading was Peglar. “You’re finished?” He asked, nodding towards the small volume.

“I haven’t even started”, DeVoeux replied. “At the Captain’s order Irving has been torturing me and Jopson with navigational maths all day long.”

“Navigation is where most people fail their exam”, Hodgson’s replied. He wasn’t sure what to make of Jopson’s promotion from steward straight to lieutenant but all the other officers were whole-heartedly in favour of it.

“I don’t care. If I hear the words longitude or latitude one more time today, I’m going to mutiny.”

“So to hide from Irving you came here?” Hodgson asked, not that he minded. Back in China he and DeVoeux had often sat together like this and he had missed his company greatly. His brazen, sarcastic humour was refreshing, both in person and the frequent letters he had written first from India and later from Erebus.

“You outrank him”, DeVoeux pointed out. “If he finds me here, you can just tell him that I’m following some vital command of yours.”

Hodgson’s look clearly said how effective that excuse would be, considering that they were sitting on the edge of a cliff in the sun visibly doing nothing but talking. 

“Don’t give me that look”, DeVoeux groaned. “There’s more to being a lieutenant than navigation. Besides my math is fine. I helped LeVesconte with his bloody magnetic observations often enough and I brought us straight to Ross’ cairn. Even Gore was impressed.”

“Fair enough”, Hodgson replied.

DeVoeux gave him a long, discerning glance, “Seriously, what’s wrong with you, George? You’re usually not this tight-lipped.”

“It’s nothing.”

“You don’t sound like it’s nothing, you don’t look like it’s nothing and you don’t act like it’s nothing.” Without hesitation DeVoeux placed his hand on Hodgson’s forehead. “You have a fever, what the hell are you doing up here?”

“It’s fine, Charles.”

“It’s not bloody fine! Did Goodsir take a look at you, yet?”

“He cannot do anything.”

“How do you know that? You’re suddenly a doctor, too?”

DeVoeux looked like he was moments away from getting to his feet and fetching Goodsir himself, so Hodgson wrapped his hand around his wrist to keep him where he was.

“It’s malaria, not scurvy or anything else. I caught it when we were in West Africa.”

DeVoeux stared at him, suddenly very still. “You never told me you had malaria.”

“I didn’t tell anyone”, Hodgson replied. “Well, Peglar and Gibson know but they came down with it back then, too. We decided to keep it between ourselves or otherwise we would’ve never been taken on this mission.”

“God damn it, George”, DeVoeux sighed, the angry tension disappeared, leaving only the worry behind. “How often?”

“Not that often, once a year maybe twice. Peglar and Gibson had more luck, I don’t think they’ve been sick since Africa.”

“They can’t exactly discharge you for it now, can they?” 

“If the Admiralty found out I lied they could do all sorts of things”, Hodgson pointed out and DeVoeux knew he was right.

“Well, now I know so I can cover for you.”

“You’re going to stand watch for me on Terror when you’re on Erebus?”

DeVoeux smirked. “That’s the other reason I came to find you: James is going to transfer you to Erebus as first lieutenant. He’s making LeVesconte commander of course and Crozier wants to keep Jopson on Terror. It’ll be like we’re back on the Cornwallis.”

“Will it?” Hodgson asked with a sidelong glance and of course DeVoeux understood what he was asking. A year’s acquaintance usually didn’t lead to six years’ worth of letters, especially not when they had been on the same expedition if separate ships for most of that time.

“If you want, yes.” 

The smile that lit up Hodgson’s face at his answer was warm and it felt like a secret, shared just between the two of them, a good secret for once.

“Will you read that to me?” Hodgson asked when he glanced down, cheeks heated from more than just the fever.

“Are you sure?” There was a teasing smile playing around DeVoeux’s lips. “You got nightmares from the last book I read to you.”

“Well, is Frankenstein as bad as the Mysteries of Udolpho?” 

“I don’t know yet, shall we find out?” DeVoeux opened the book on the first page and began to read, “Letter 1, To Mrs Saville, England, St Petersburgh, December 11th, 17 - You will rejoice to hear that no disaster…”

/

Crozier needn’t to have worried. Jopson, like everyone else who had suffered from scurvy, had completely recovered within two weeks of their arrival at Oshotk. He also proved to be a good student, which was not surprising. Crozier had always appreciated Jopson’s quick mind amongst his other good qualities.

With the ships needing less repair than expected, although Sergeant Tozer had pointed out that he hadn’t been a carpenter in twelve years and was therefore not an ideal judge, it looked they would be able to sail out of Oshotk by the end of August.

The mayor was very helpful in provisioning them for the journey to Hawaii and soon their larder was filled with corn flour, salt meat and many barrels of fermented cabbage that according to the locals prevented scurvy.

The first night back on Terror felt like coming home and he felt the same energy from the men, too. By now he had spent more time on this ship than anywhere else in his life. 

The officers still ate separately from the men in the wardroom but the lack of stewards meant that they collected their food from Mr. Diggle like everyone else. They had traded their tea, chocolate and fancy dining ware in Oshotk, so everyone shared the same food and drink from the ship’s boy to the Crozier himself. 

Three years ago he would’ve looked down on this kind of camaraderie between officers and men but now he understood that by leading them through the ice, he had their respect and loyalty more than the articles and ranks ever could hope to achieve.

“I could swear I promoted you to Lieutenant a few months ago”, Crozier said when he returned to the great cabin only to find Jopson tidying up what little had been left lying around, most of it from before their stay in Oshotk.

“I haven’t passed my exam yet”, Jopson replied with a smile as he folded a blanket and put it tidily on a bench. When he moved to take a stack of books, Crozier stood in his way. 

“I mean it, Jopson, you don’t have to do this.” Crozier didn’t care if he blew his chances of a knighthood by throwing a tantrum at the Admiralty, but he would get them to accept Jopson as a lieutenant, one way or another. A man as quick minded and integer as he should’ve never been forced to serve as a steward in the first place just because of his class.

“I know”, Jopson replied, meeting Crozier’s eyes openly. “And I’m not doing this out of habit or because I don’t think you’ll be able to force the Admiralty to accept my promotion. I know you will.” As so often when he was feeling self-conscious, Jopson pushed a strand of his hair from his face. “I’m doing this for you.”

“Thomas – “Crozier said but Jopson continued quickly, 

“I’m here because of you, and that won’t change even if you promoted me to First Lord of the Admiralty. And I know you’re not like this, like me. I’ve made my peace with that a long time ago. When we return, you’ll get your knighthood and you’ll marry Miss Cracroft and I sincerely hope you’ll be the happiest man on earth.”

Jopson smiled like he had smiled when talking about his mother, so torn it hurt to look at him. Crozier was left speechless. He had never been blind to Jopson’s devotion, but the sheer unwavering depth of it – this was never a gift Jopson should’ve given to him. It was too much and faced with the reality of it, he didn’t know what to do. He would’ve never accepted it, if he had known…but the moment he thought that Crozier realised that he had, every time he had asked Jopson for something far beyond his duties, far beyond even the boundaries of friendship.

“Excuse me, sir.”

Jopson slipped past him and it was only when the door closed behind him that Crozier realised he hadn’t thought about Sophia once in the past 9 months.

/

Crozier wished he could have someone to talk to but he also knew that it wasn’t just his own secret he would expose but Jopson’s as well. He had been at sea long enough to know the kind of arrangements men sometimes had with each other. James and he had fooled around like they boys they had been at the time and had outgrown it, but then again, he had never been attracted to anyone on the basis of pure physical beauty. And he could count the people he truly cared about; James, Sophia, Blanky, Jopson and Fitzjames, on one hand.

He also didn’t know who he could speak to. Blanky would’ve been his first choice; he too knew what happened on ships and he wasn’t religious enough to let it bother him but would he understand that Crozier’s appreciation Jopson came from a place far beyond physical need?

Fitzjames had the reputation to be a libertine but that word dodged the step of every eligible bachelor without a known lover or sweetheart. And knowing Fitzjames’ secret it was clear to Crozier why he wouldn’t want to be tangled up in a relationship, where an overzealous father or guardian could ruin everything.

Fortunately running a ship with twenty men less than she had been intended for, meant that everyone was busy and there was no time for idleness and gossiping. On top of that Jopson had his math lessons with Irving and Crozier quietly asked Little, who had already taken Thomas Hartnell under his wing, to teach Jopson the practicalities of being a lieutenant. Meanwhile Crozier busied himself going through the stores of food, drink, coal, sail and rope with Armitage, who was acting temporarily as the ship’s clerk since his broken arm prevented him from most other duties.

That strategy worked for a few days until Blanky more or less ambushed him in his cabin after dinner. The sea had been calm and so Crozier had invited over the officers from Erebus to dine with them in an attempt to distract himself further.

“Alright, Francis, what’s wrong?”

Crozier, who had been updating the ship’s log, barely even glanced up. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Let me rephrase that. What did Jopson do?”

Crozier startled so badly that he almost knocked over the ink bottle. 

“How do you – “When he saw Blanky’s grin, he realised that his reaction had confirmed what had only been a guess on his friend’s part. “He did nothing.”

“So he actually said something?” Blanky raised his eyebrows. “You’re being a bad influence if he’s already this foolhardy.”

“How did you know?” Crozier asked resignedly.

“You kept looking at him when you thought he wasn’t looking and he did the same. It was very much not subtle. Even Fitzjames asked me if I knew what was wrong”, Blanky explained, before grabbing chair and sitting down on it. “So what did he say?”

“Nothing much, he was just being honest.” First Sophia, now Jopson, a part of Crozier wished the people he cared for would stop being honest with him. 

“About being in love with you for the last eight years or so?” Blanky was clearly enjoying himself and Crozier wondered how he could’ve ever thought he would react any differently. “That’s not exactly a secret.”

“I wasn’t aware it was common knowledge, either.” 

“Francis, he’s the only man you personally picked for this expedition. You didn’t challenge one of Fitzjames’ nominations and those of us who knew you and weren’t sick of the cold yet, we volunteered”, Blanky explained. “And everyone on this crew knows that Jopson would do anything you asked of him.”

“I would never ask that of him.” Crozier had never been blind to Jopson’s attractiveness and knew that other men would’ve taken advantage, but not he.

“I know”, Blanky replied. “But he offered, and that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Actually, he didn’t. He said he had made his peace with the fact that I was not like him and then he wished me and Sophia all the best in the world.” If he was an ounce as brave as Jopson, Crozier would’ve said something right in that moment instead of agonising over it for days.

“And that’s when you realised you hadn’t thought about her in months.”

Crozier threw him a sidelong glance. “Sometimes it is dreadful that you know me so well.”

Blanky shrugged. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“He is right, I plan on retiring after this expedition reaches England and he’ll go on to be a great officer of her majesty’s navy. We’ll never have to see each other again.” It would be for the best. Jopson was a bright young man with a great career before him and Crozier would do what he could do support him from afar, but anything more than that could be potentially dangerous.

“It’s at least another year until we get back to London”, Blanky reminded him but Crozier shook his head, knowing what train of thought he was following.

“I won’t lead him on for a year just to break with him at the end of it.”

“I don’t think it’s leading on if you feel just as strongly for him as he feels for you. And there’s no need to break with him, even if you stay in England and he keeps on serving.”

“Yes, there is. If I didn’t, he would feel bound to me as surely as – “as if we were married, he had meant to say despite the nonsensicality of such a statement. “And he would pass up opportunities for better and more suitable companionship.”

“What if there isn’t better companionship for either of you than each other?”

“No”, Crozier gave Blanky a humourless smile but his tone left no doubt about his conviction. “That is not true, not for him.”

Blanky shook his head. “I think you’re a fool, Francis. And I do hope you won’t regret this choice, even though I think it’s the wrong one.”

“Thank you, Thomas”, Crozier clasped Blanky’s shoulder, sincerely grateful for his friend and his advice

“Anytime, Francis”, Blanky hugged him back for a moment, before adding with a grin, “Besides I’ve read all the books we carry and entertainment is hard to come by these days.”

“Then I am glad to have been of service”, Crozier said with a small bow of his head. Even if it didn’t change anything, simply talking about it already made him feel lighter than in days.

Later, he told Little that he would take Jopson’s lessons back over. Crozier needed to show him that his confession hadn’t scared him off, that nothing had changed between them and that it never would, no matter what happened.

**Author's Note:**

> Oshotk is Fitzjames’ charming misspelling of the actual Siberian town of Okhotsk, so I used it to make up a Russian American town from whole cloth.
> 
> I thought about making this an everyone lives au but I liked everyone’s character development over the 47/48 winter too much, so this westward lead opened up just before they were getting ready to march. Also I killed off twenty background characters. Feel free to decide for yourself who of the people that go unmentioned are dead and which ones aren’t.
> 
> The green mush is pureed nettle sting, which is a good alternative to prevent/cure scurvy if you do not have lemons at hand. And yes, it really works that fast and well. Even people with late stage scurvy usually make a complete recovery within two weeks if given enough vitamin c.
> 
> So in real life DeVoeux had already passed his lieutenant’s exam before going on the expedition, but what’s a little creative liberty between friends, right?
> 
> There is no evidence that Hodgson had malaria or that he would have been excluded from the expedition if he had, although you had to pass a medical exam before muster so who knows. Gibson and Peglar most likely didn’t have malaria either, though there is a mention of ‘comfort cove’ in the Peglar Papers which was the name of a quarantine station for fever patients on the island from which their ship carried out her anti-slavery operations in West Africa.
> 
> ‘The Mysteries of Udolpho’ is a real book by Ann Radcliff, published in 1794. Jane Austen thoroughly mocks it and other Gothic horror novels in ‘Persuasion’ and it deserves that mockery as it is a boring book and fails at both horror and mystery. (Yes, I have read it and no, I emphatically do not recommend it. Go read Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein instead, it is much better.)
> 
> According to the muster rolls, Hartnell and his brother served on Erebus, not Terror, but maybe men got re-shuffled after Beechey.
> 
> That real life Jopson had a scar on his right leg comes from the description book for the Antarctica expedition so obviously he already had it before then, but I thought Crozier saving his life would be a good way to show how Jopson’s devotion to him started.
> 
> Also, yep , I wrote a 10 000 word fix-it fic and then didn’t bloody fix everything. That depressing Jopson/Crozier ending was not planned, I swear. Guess I’ll have to include Crozier and Jopson in that Gibson/Hickey Hawaii sequel I was planning to write…


End file.
